Chapter 91: The Battle of Veldra

The night stretched out across the Desolate Land, the pale light of the moon casting long, uneven shadows over the earth. A column of men moved steadily forward through the darkness, torches raised high, swords and spears glinting faintly in the flickering firelight. Their footsteps fell in rough, uneven unison, boots crunching against the ground, the low murmur of their voices carrying faintly across the quiet wasteland.

At the front of the group, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred jaw raised a gloved hand, signaling the column to slow.

"Village should be just past that ridge," he called back over his shoulder. "Scouts confirmed it an hour ago. There’s barely any real defense left after we cleared out their last batch of guards."

A ripple of low, confident laughter passed through the groups behind him.

"Should be easy pickings, then," another voice called out. "I hear this batch is supposed to be worth even more on the market. Pure-blooded elves don’t come cheap."

The group pressed forward, torches bobbing steadily through the darkness, the imposing silhouette of their numbers stretching out across the land like a slow-moving plague.

Then, without warning, the man at the front raised his hand again, bringing the entire column to an abrupt halt.

"Hold."

Murmurs rippled through the groups as confused eyes followed his gaze forward.

A single figure stood directly in their path, roughly a hundred paces ahead, wrapped in a dark, travel-worn cloak that fluttered gently in the cold night breeze. Several torches immediately swung in that direction, the combined firelight illuminating the lone silhouette with flickering clarity.

A young man stood there, alone, his silver hair catching the torchlight, his deep blue eyes calm and unreadable as they swept slowly across the gathered column.

He said nothing. He simply began walking toward them, each step slow and deliberate, utterly unhurried, as though an entire armed column standing between him and the village filled with helpless victims meant absolutely nothing to him.

The scarred man at the front narrowed his eyes, his hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of his sword.

"Who the hell are you?"

The boy didn’t answer, continuing his unhurried pace forward, closing the distance steadily, the firelight catching the edges of a faint, humorless smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I said, who are you?!" the leader shouted again, drawing his blade fully now, the metal ringing softly as it cleared its sheath. "This is your only warning. State your business, or we’ll cut you down where you stand."

Still, the boy said nothing.

A ripple of uneasy tension spread quickly through the army, men exchanging wary, confused glances. A single, unarmed figure strolling calmly toward a hundred-strong, fully armed column should have inspired laughter, mockery, contempt. Instead, something about the boy’s silence, the unnerving steadiness of his approach, sent a cold, creeping discomfort crawling down more than a few spines.

"Enough of this," the scarred leader finally snarled, raising his sword high. "Kill him."

A handful of men surged forward instantly, blades raised, torches thrown aside to free their weapon hands.

The boy moved.

The first attacker never even saw it happen. One moment he was charging forward, blade raised high for a downward strike, and the next, a sharp, condensed burst of frost tore clean through his chest, dropping him instantly, lifelessly, to the ground below.

The second and third attackers barely had time to register their companion’s death before the boy was already among them, his movements a blur of controlled, lethal precision. A twist, a strike, a flash of ice along his forearm, and both men crumpled within seconds of each other, their blades barely managing to graze empty air.

"What the hell is he?!" someone shouted from further back in the column, panic creeping sharply into his voice.

"Spread out! Surround him! He can’t fight all of us at once!"

The column fractured into motion, men rushing forward from multiple directions at once, torches casting wild, flickering shadows across the chaotic scene as blades flashed through the darkness.

Neo moved through them like water through stone, weaving between strikes with practiced ease, every motion calm, deliberate. A sword swung toward his side, and he twisted just enough to let it pass harmlessly, retaliating instantly with a punch coating with mana directly into his attacker’s exposed chest. Another man lunged from his blind side, and Neo spun low, sweeping the attacker’s legs out from under him before driving a swift, decisive strike through his throat.

Bodies dropped steadily around him, one after another, the once-confident column rapidly descending into chaotic, panicked disarray.

But their numbers remained a genuine problem.

A spear grazed his shoulder, tearing through fabric and skin alike, and Neo hissed sharply, stumbling half a step before catching his footing. Another blade caught his forearm moments later, a shallow but stinging cut opening along his skin.

’Too many... Even moving like this, I can’t keep dodging them forever.’

He gritted his teeth, blood dripping steadily from the shallow wounds accumulating across his body, the sheer volume of attackers slowly beginning to wear down his usual precision.

’Alright. Time to stop holding back.’

He planted his feet firmly and closed his eyes for a brief, focused moment.

[Nine Heavens Dragon Ascension Art: First Ascension!]

A thin, gleaming layer of frost spread rapidly across his skin, hardening steadily until his entire body carried a faint, icy sheen beneath the flickering torchlight. The next blade that struck his shoulder shattered uselessly against the hardened surface, the attacker stumbling backward in stunned disbelief.

"What in the—his skin just broke my sword!"

Neo didn’t give him time to recover. A sharp, decisive strike sent the man crumpling to the ground, and Neo immediately pivoted to meet the next attacker, his movements noticeably faster now, more aggressive, the earlier caution bleeding away into something closer to controlled ferocity.

Spears and swords crashed uselessly against his hardened skin, each failed strike only seeming to embolden him further. He drove forward through the scattering group, ice spreading beneath his feet with every step, sending careless attackers slipping and stumbling across the suddenly treacherous ground.

"Fall back! Regroup, damn it, regroup!" the scarred leader shouted desperately, though his voice carried a sharp, unmistakable edge of panic now, the earlier confidence entirely gone.

Neo surged forward through the chaos, cutting down anyone careless enough to stand their ground, blood and frost mingling together across the earth beneath the scattered torchlight.

’Veldra stays standing tonight. No matter what it takes.’

He pressed forward relentlessly, the battle far from over. The remaining attackers scrambled desperately to reform their formation, but the lone figure continued tearing steadily through their numbers, one blow at a time.

***

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